On the Luxury Named Urban Solitude
Listen to me, you. Yes, you, right there. At this very moment, aren’t you indulging in that spoiled, sentimental notion that you are the loneliest person in the entire world? No, I am not scolding you. In fact, I want to say congratulations. For solitude is the only aristocratic privilege permitted to a human being. Tell me, you. We live our lives harboring a filthy, parasitic anxiety—the fear that we might die if we aren’t constantly connected to someone. We trace the screens of our smartphones, waiting for that inorganic signal of a “Like” as if it were a drop of life-giving water. Isn’t it ridiculous? Isn’t it shallow? You must have realized the truth by now. No matter how much you huddle together with others, that glacier-like coldness in the depths of your heart will never, ever melt.
So, you. I want to tell you about a certain painter. A man named Edward Hopper. In twentieth-century America—a country that was the very symbol of clamor and prosperity—he did nothing but paint “silence.” Tell me, you. Have you ever seen his paintings? There, the true nature of that wordless loneliness you keep hidden is displayed, laid bare for all to see. The urban nights Hopper paints, the gas stations, the cheap hotel rooms. There, you find a contrast between light and shadow that is cruel in its starkness. Light is not a salvation; rather, it functions as a spotlight to make solitude stand out all the more. You. Don’t you find yourself identifying with the customers in that painting called “Nighthawks”? A late-night diner, people trapped inside a cage of bright light. They sit with their backs turned to one another, no conversation, just staring intently at their coffee cups. Like fish trapped in an exitless tank. But why is it that this scene is so heart-wrenchingly beautiful?
Silence as Paradoxical Salvation
You. When you are lonely, you instinctively try to flee toward crowded places, don’t you? But that is counterproductive. There is no knife that pierces the chest as sharply as the solitude felt in a massive crowd. Hopper knew this intimately. As he walked through the giant anthill that is New York City, he captured the moments of “disconnection” that people suddenly reveal. You. Look at the windows Hopper paints. In his work, unnervingly large windows appear time and again. A window is a boundary connecting the outer world to the inner, yet simultaneously, it is a transparent wall that ensures the two never touch. A woman sits alone by a window, bathing in the sunlight. She isn’t waiting for anything in particular. She is simply “being” there. Tell me, you. Don’t you think this is the true essence of a human being?
We are alone when we are born, and alone when we die. And during the long stretch of time in between, in the final analysis, we are alone. You. You must not avert your eyes from this grim fact. The reason Hopper’s paintings continue to shake our hearts so violently, nearly a century after they were unveiled, is that he “affirmed solitude.” He did not try to fill the loneliness. He presented loneliness exactly as it is, like a polished piece of crystal. You. That sense of emptiness you feel right now is not a defect. It is proof that you are living your own life—a life that belongs to no one else—with absolute sincerity. Hopper went through a long period when he couldn’t sell his work. While scraping by a living illustrating magazines, he continued to stare at the heavy shadows within himself. You. The idea that success or fame will heal your loneliness is a pathetic lie. Even after he became famous, the silence in the world he depicted only deepened.
The Sweet Despair Whispered by Shadows
Now, you. Wherever there is light, there is inevitably a shadow. It sounds like a platitude, but we pursue the light so fervently that we forget our own shadows. The shadows in Hopper’s paintings are not merely darkness. They are like a will given form. A sharp, triangular shadow falling across the wall of a building. It is a sundial marking the passage of time, and at the same time, it seems to mock the fragility of our existence. You. When you are alone in your room, don’t you ever feel as if you’re about to be sucked into the darkness in the corner? That sensation where the certainty of your existence crumbles away like dry sand. Hopper sublimated that very feeling into “beauty.”
Looking back at history, America was a country that constantly demanded people be “positive.” The pioneer spirit, the ladder of success, the glorious future. Behind those blindingly bright slogans, Hopper gathered the sighs of the people who were left behind. Tell me, you. They say Edward Hopper was a tall, taciturn, and cantankerous man. His relationship with his wife, Josephine, was far from harmonious, to put it mildly. In their cramped studio, the two of them shouted at each other, hurt each other, and yet could never part. You. This, too, is a form of solitude, isn’t it? Even when two people are together, they can feel a solitude deeper than when they are alone. Haven’t you experienced that? A night where you feel a chill as if you’ve been cast out to the edge of the universe, right next to the person you love. Hopper painted even that freezing silence onto his canvas.
A Final Service for You
Now then, you. It is almost time to say goodbye. But please, remember at least this. Why are Hopper’s paintings so “comfortable”? It is because within the solitude he depicts, there lurks an ultimate “freedom.” A time where you are disturbed by no one, where you meet no one’s expectations, and you simply sink deep into your own center. You. You have absolutely no reason to fear solitude. Rather, you should savor that loneliness slowly, like a glass of expensive wine. The tears you shed, the emptiness you carry—all of it is the precious paint used to color the one-and-only masterpiece that is you.
Tell me, you. Tonight, if you cannot sleep, try opening a book of Hopper’s paintings. Or perhaps, conjure up that gas station scene in your mind. The beauty of that artificial light floating lonely in the dark. There, just like you, souls are depicted simply watching the night in silence. You are not alone. There are countless comrades who share in that “state of being alone,” across the world and throughout history. You. You are beautiful. Your solitude is beautiful. Just as Hopper taught us, I want to tell you that. So please, do not let go of that loneliness. For it is the final clue for you to remain yourself. Tell me, you. Can you hear it? This quiet, oh-so-quiet sound of a heart trembling.